


Solve for to Be or Not to Be

by Kahvi



Category: John Finnemore's Souvenir Programme
Genre: Comedy, Gen, Literary Theory, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:12:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahvi/pseuds/Kahvi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Um... Mister Culter? I don't understand what I'm supposed to put in this box here? It says summary? But, like, there's nothing to sum up, because there are no sums or nothing? So do I put the characters in? But I already did? Is it about you and Mister Pallister? And how you switched classes again, and the thing with the tests? Then why didn't you just SAY that, oh my god... OK, I wrote something in the box can I go home now?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solve for to Be or Not to Be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Enigel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enigel/gifts).



> Much love to my regular beta for her cheerleading and love - and my deepest (though perhaps reluctant) apologies to Michel Foucault.

Admittedly, Will's hand was already on the door knob when the stoic cry of _"enter"_ burst through the cheap wood. It had not occurred to him to knock. Deciding to make the best of things, he entered. 

"Good-" he began, feeling all of a sudden like Bilbo Baggins meeting Gandalf when the white-haired, stern-faced man insider interrupted him;

"Ah, Mr. Culter!"

"It's... it's Cutler, actually. They must have written my name down wrong on the form when I started working-"

"It says Culter right here on the notice I was given."

"Yes, well, you see, as I said, they got my name wrong when I-"

"This is from the school's official records, is it not?"

"I... sort of see your point," Will said warily, because he did. That's what was making him wary. "However-"

"Jolly good, then!" Mr. Pallister - it had to be him; there was no one else it reasonably could be - sat back in his office chair and knitted his hands behind his head. "I've been expecting you."

"Have you? That's good, I suppose." Perhaps he wouldn't have to explain after all. He had rather been dreading having to explain; he'd been up all night grading the papers that had been due back last week, which meant it had been nearly 2 AM by the time he had a chance to actually open Mr. Pallister's e-mail, and, well, he hadn't been able to sleep very well after that. 

"Oh yes - everyone keeps telling me what a nice chap you are; very proper and polite." Was it Will's imagination, or did those adjectives sound like their antonyms? 

"That's very nice of them."

"But really, there's no need to thank me."

Will's lower lip twitched, in the way it always did when rumpled by unepexted interactions in social contexts. "Oh! Well. I mean. It's only right." He hoped it was. 

"Really, no trouble at all. I confess I actually enjoyed it!"

Comprehension dawned, terrifyingly. "So, about the... test on Shakespeare?" Will made the question mark as subtle as he possibly could. 

"Yes, like I said, no trouble at all. I know what it's like, believe me; I've an impressive marking backlog myself. Only happy to help out!" 

"Yes. Well, you see, I'd sort of planned on... on actually _writing_ the test myself."

"And now you don't have to!" Pallister beamed. 

"I suppose I don't..."

"You look tired, Culter. Why don't you go home, it's nearly four. You don't have any more classes today, do you?"

"It's Cutler. Sorry. Erm, no; no I don't."

"Well, off with you, then!" Pallister beamed again. There existed between them, momentarily, an unquiet impasse. 

"I don't want to be rude or ungrateful, but..."

"Spit it out, man." Pallister's brow had furrowed. It made him look like some vaguely familiar incarnation of Doctor Who. 

"Something's clearly on your mind."

"It's just that - look - I have a few questions. If you don't mind?"

"Not at all!" Pallister waved him closer, hurriedly sweeping the papers on his desk into a completely different and tidier configuration. Will sat down in the chair opposite, hesitantly. 

"I've brought a print-out with me..." He put it down on the now clear tabletop between them, tilting it so it would be easier for Pallister to see. "It's just a few minor points I'd like to discuss, nothing major really; let me see... ah yes. Here. Question... erm... 1." 

"Yes?" Pallister nodded. 

"And question 2."

"All right."

"Question 3."

"Yes."

"Question... sorry, question 5. And 4."

"I see." 

"Question.... questions 6-7 make sense in light of question 4-"

"-natually."

"But I'm afraid you've lost me again on questions 7-9."

"Right."

"And, in fact... the, erm, in fact, the entire rest of the test."

To Will's surprise, Pallister appeared unphased. "All right, nothing wrong with that; my mental calculations get a little rusty in the late afternoon too. Suppose we go through them together?"

"I-" Will decided not to press the point. "Yes, that would be great."

"Now then!" Pallister produced a pair of wire-rimmed glasses - which he probably referred to as spectacles - and leaned over the paper. "Question 1: Hamlet commands Ophelia 'get thee to a nunnery'. Calculate the probability of her doing so." He looked up in question. "Seems fairly straight forward to me."

"Well-"

"Oh! No, sorry, I see what you mean now."

Will exhaled noisily. "I'm very glad to hear it."

"How silly of me; they'll simply take the answer from the text without doing the calculations." He reached for a red pen from his disturbingly tidy pen holder. "So, we simply add 'Show your work'." He wrote it out carefully next to the question. "That answers that!" 

"Ah."

"Don't you agree, Culter?"

"It's - actually, why don't you call me Will?"

"If you like, certainly. Please call me Frank." 

"You certainly are..." Will muttered, blinking a little too rapidly when he realized what he'd said. "I don't, actually," he added quickly and louder. 

"No? Let me set up the equation for you. If Ophelia's chance of getting to a nunnery is 'x'-" 

Will turned the paper over before Pallister could begin to write. "No, look; it simply doesn't work like that! I mean, take this, for example!" He pointed to the bottom of the page. "In _Twelft Night_ , can Sebastian fully and unproblematically replace Viola?"

Pallister bristled somewhat. "That question was in the notes you handed me."

"Yeah, but you're asking them to give their answers in the form of a venn diagram!" 

"Of course; if they're to compare the two-"

"Apart from anything else, there are far too many questions; they'll never have time to finish them all!"

"Mmnno, you're quite wrong there, if you look at the answer key I provided-"

"Ah yes; I'm glad you brought that up - the answer key. Question 12, for example: 'Is Juliet's family morally justified in refusing to let her marry a Montague', is listed as having the correct answer of 'no'."

Pallister narrowed his eyes. "Are you saying they _are_ morally justified?"

"No!" Will dug his fingernails into his palm to keep from raising his voice. I did not noticably help. "Quite frankly I was suprised at the inclusion of an answer key in the first place. And the answers are all yes/no or one-word or... or ruddy equations! Please believe that I say this with the utmost respect, Mr... Frank; you can neither pose nor answer literary analysis questions that way!"

There was not a hint of smugness in Mr. Pallister's voice when he replied "and why not? The students seem to be getting the hang of it; quickly, too. Start getting into that 'what do _you_ think' nonsense, and they just get confused. We don't send our children – do you have children, Will?" 

«No, I-»

«I can't say I'm entirely surprised. Anyway, _I_ don't send my children to school in order for them to tell teachers what they think is the right answer; I send them to school in order for teachers to tell _them_ what the right answers are!"  
" _But there are no right answers!_ " 

"I very much beg to differ! Is Hamlet a conflicted character?"

"Yes, but-"

"Is _Romeo and Juliet_ a tragedy?"

"Yes, it is, but-"

"Was Othello's wife Desdemona innocent of adultery?"

"Of course, but-"

"Facts!" Pallister thumped his hand down on the desk. "If you ask me, this whole ambiguity thing has gone all too far. You don't see this sort of nonsense in the sciences. Let me say _this_ with the utmost respect; in the few days I've had with your students, they've gone from being behind on the curriculum to surging ahead of it. As I said, there's no need to thank me." And with this, he removed his glasses, and rearranged his papers in the same flurry of efficient action. Will had the unmistakable impression he'd been dismissed.

* * *

"And you just _left?_ "

Will didn't particularly want to talk about it, but Alex had kept on insisting, from the moment Will had set foot inside the door, until he did. That was Alex, for you. "Yeah, I did. So would you, if you'd seen the look on his face."

"Oh, pet..." 

"And of course, the worst part is, when I was stuck in traffic on the way home, I came up with all sorts of fantastic comebacks. Not just comebacks either; proper arguments, founded soundly in literary theory. I even got into Focault - _Focault!_ That smarmy French bastard nearly made me fail my finals!"

"Let's hear some of it, then."

"I can't remember it now, can I? Why d'you think I nearly failed my exams; I could never remember when I needed to!" He shook his head. "Actually, that's not the worst part."

Alex poured them both another glass of wine, and Will smiled at him. "Go on. What is?"

"The worst part is, I hated theory, in school. I used to glare at the assignments we were given and think to myself that I'd never, ever have a use for any of this in my professional career, and that's the _actual_ worst; now I _have_!" 

"Drink your wine, love." Alex patted his hand, then urged it towards the now-full glass. "And then, let's have dinner, and forget about it for a while. I'm sure you'll think of something tomorrow."

"I don't know, though. Sometimes I wish I'd never switched careers."  
"You don't mean that! You love being a teacher!"

"Yeah, but sometimes, just sometimes, I wish I were still driving trains with you." Their eyes met across the table, and then their upturned lips. And Alex was right; they did forget about it, for quite a while.

* * *

"You know," Alex said, much later, "I think I might have an idea."

"An idea for what?"

"I said you'd forget about it, didn't I."

"Oh, right. That. I nearly had, thanks."

"Stay with me." Alex swatted his thigh. 

"Ow!"

"Pallister is off next Thursday, isn't he? For the conference in Ottery St. Mary?" Alex frowned. "Why on Earth would anyone want to hold a conference in Ottery St. Mary, anyway?"

"Don't let's get into it; it's a long story."

"But you're covering for him, aren't you?"

"Yeah... what are you thinking?"

Alex told him. Then Will kissed him and they forgot about it again for a bit, but thankfully he remembered again by Thursday.

* * *

"Enter," Will yelled, just as he heard the slightly hesitant footsteps outside his office door. He tried his very best not to smirk when Pallister entered. "Ah, Frank! I've been expecting you."

Pallister stopped, mid-stride. "You have?"

"Oh, yes. And there's no need to thank me, really. After all, you did such a wonderful job helping me making that test; it was the least I could do to return the favor."

"But I already had a test planned for next week."

"Did you? My goodness; you're ahead of schedule then, aren't you? Well, as I say, there's no need to thank me."

Pallisters face had gone an interesting, pale teal sort of color. " _Thank you?_ "

"Yeah, like I said, there's no need."

"But..." The papers Pallister had been holding nearly spilled all over the floor as he waved them about, casting angrily around for words. 

"Yes?"

"Look at this!" Pallister slammed the stack onto Will's happily untidy desk. "How am I supposed to mark this?"

"I'd be more than happy to do it for you."

"But all the answers are either yes or no! Or," he pressed an angry finger against the offending question, "in one memorable instance, 'both'." 

"I think you'll find that it _is_ both. It depends on how you interpret the equation." 

"But you provide all the answers in the text, along with the problems! You're giving them the entire equation and an answer; all you're asking is if it's right or wrong!"

Will leaned back, indulging in a slow smile. "The answers are right or wrong, aren't they?"

"Naturally, but-"

"And you can't expect the students to come up with the answers themselves; there's only one correct answer." 

"Yes, but this way, they don't even have to think about-"

Will shook his head, sadly. "Can't have the students _thinking_ , can we? It's hardly up to them to tell the teachers what they think is the right answer. No, that's for us to provide, and them to memorize and spew back at us."

" _But you can neither pose nor answer mathematical questions this way!_ " Pallister was leaning across the desk, fists shaking. Will offered him a cup of coffee, which confused him enough that he accepted it, holding the steaming mug dazedly. 

"As I said, there's no need to thank me." By the look on his face, Pallister knew he'd been dismissed. 

Will decided to take the train home. He rather missed Alex, and furthermore, he found he thought less about French literary theorists there.


End file.
